Saturday's FA Cup Final between Premiership Portsmouth and Championship also-rans Cardiff City started as a romantic's dream, but by the end had turned into an event strictly for the pragmatist. This was the first final since 1991 not to feature one of the so-called big four clubs, a fact that was immediately obvious from the colourful, frenetic atmosphere of a genuine fans day out. Even more remarkably perhaps, it was the first final in almost half a century to feature neither a team from London nor the North of England. When Nottingham Forest beat Luton 2-1 in the 1959 final, the European cup was only three years old and English football just starting to crawl out of its self-imposed exile. In many ways this was the throwback final: a homage to earlier, more innocent times. The excitement of the disbelieving fans at seeing their respective teams in the traditional end-of season Wembley showcase was a stark reminder of the days before over-exposure had sated the public appetite for the big occasion to the point of nausea. Even moments that had seemed in danger of becoming hackneyed, like the ritualistic rendering of Abide With Me, were given new spirit and meaning, reducing players and spectators alike to tears.

It was an occasion full of promise, and Cardiff, betraying no sign of stage fright, seemed intent on doing it justice right from the kick off. While their Premiership rivals started like a team who hadn't played a meaningful fixture in over a month, the Welshmen made their intentions clear with their strong running and incisive, direct attacking style. Moving the ball at pace through the middle and down the wings, they carved the Portsmouth defence open twice in the opening moments. That they failed to score was due only to indecisiveness at the critical moment, coupled with some strong interventions from veteran Pompey 'keeper David James, who must have felt as though he was playing behind Liverpool's dodgy defence again rather than the normally dependable Campbell and Distin. Most culpable for failing to crown Cardiff's superiority with a goal was striker Paul Parry. Twice he foundered when clean through on James' goal, and if he could argue that on the first occasion James simply beat him to a fifty-fifty ball, he had no such excuse for the second. Tearing down the inside left channel, he only had to touch the ball past the advancing 'keeper to leave himself with an open goal. Sadly for his team mates and the Cardiff faithful he chose the wrong option, and as James smothered the converted midfielder's attempt to slide the ball under his advancing frame, it was as though he simultaneously snuffed out the spark of Cardiff's challenge. It was the sort of chance Robbie Fowler, sidelined through injury, would have put away in his sleep, and despite continuing to have their share of possession the Welsh side never came so close again.

From that point on it was a case of Portsmouth gradually exerting control over their upstart opponents by squeezing the life out of the game. Mendez and Diarra began to take control of the midfield, the Parisian in particular running relentlessly and showing a dead eye for a pass while his Portuguese colleague exuded calm authority. And despite still looking out of sorts and short of ideas, Portsmouth began to create chances. First, Cardiff 'keeper Peter Enckelman flapped at a Muntari free kick, managing only to divert the ball towards Distin who should have made more of the headed chance. Then in the 22nd minute, Kanu created and spurned a gilt-edged opportunity to open the scoring. Receiving a low centre from Muntari he turned Loovens and, keeping control, swept past Enckelman. The goal yawned, albeit from a tight angle, but the Nigerian's tame effort struck the wrong side of the post. Romantics must have wondered whether this reprieve would prove to be a turning point for Cardiff, but ten minutes before half time Kanu himself put paid to that idea, with more than a little help from Enckelman.

The Fin, like most goalkeepers, has had to deal with his share of howlers over the course of a nine-year career. Some years ago while at Aston Villa, he basked in notoriety for a week or two after allowing a throw in from team mate Olof Mellberg to roll crazily under his foot into the unguarded net. The blunder he committed on Saturday wasn't in the same class, but it still turned out to be the error that ended his team's hopes of Wembley glory. The fault wasn't all his, but if full back Tony Capaldi might have done more to prevent Kanu's fellow-countryman, winger John Utaka, getting in a low cross from the right, Enckelman should certainly have dealt with it better. Again palming at the ball when he should have attempted to catch it, he could only manage to pat it towards the lurking Kanu who gratefully redeemed himself by sidefooting into the empty net.

Cardiff were unlucky not to hit back straight away. Presumably still delirious after scoring, the Portsmouth defence switched off, full back Glen Johnson going awol as Parry swept into space down the left and headed towards goal. With the crowd baying for him to shoot, he chose instead to cross low towards the inrushing McNaughton who could only guide the speeding ball wide of the post. The sense of anticlimax was palpable. Cardiff proved unable to capitalize on the missed chance, and Portsmouth ended the half far the stronger of the two sides.

Most of the crowd expected Cardiff manager Dave Jones to make changes at half time. 36 year old striker Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink had been largely anonymous, and more pace was needed in midfield alongside Peter Whittingham's calm and cultured creativity to counter the purposeful energy of Diarra. But Jones was content to play a waiting game, preferring to favour Hasselbaink's experience and proven eye for goal over the raw young talent of substitutes Aaron Ramsay and Steven Thompson.

In truth, this strategy never really looked like paying off. Portsmouth began the second half with a degree of control and authority they had rarely been allowed to show in the first. Wittingham continued to threaten sporadically from set-pieces and the occasional through-ball, but neither side offered any significant threat as Portsmouth tightened their suffocating grip on the midfield. Tired-looking Cardiff were desperately in need of fresh legs and fresh inspiration, but Jones let things drift for far too long, seemingly paralysed by the enormity of the occasion. When he did finally make a change with half an hour remaining, it was mystifyingly Wittingham, far and away Cardiff's most creative player, who was withdrawn for the tyro Ramsey. Despite the youngster's best efforts, this had little effect on the pattern of the match. The ineffectual Hasselbaink's miserable afternoon was finally brought to an end ten minutes later when he was substituted by Thompson. Cardiff immediately began to show more purpose and intent in midfield and greater attacking threat, and their supporters can only wonder what might have been if their manager had acted sooner. As it was, the game rather petered out, the pragmatic professionalism of Portsmouth having squeezed the life out of the romantic dream.

In the end, it was a day as much about the past as the future. At just 32, Kanu, scorer of the winning goal, is a youngster compared to team mates David James and Sol Campbell, but despite the noise of manager Harry Redknapp, and the quality he has assembled in his team, surely none of this estimable trio can expect a hasty repeat of this unexpected success. Redknapp himself will probably be as amazed as he is undoubtedly delighted to have finally capped an impressive career with a major trophy. A stalwart of constantly unfashionable clubs such as West Ham, Southampton and now Portsmouth, it is no disrespect to say that the man once touted as possibly the next England manager was, for once in his life, in the right place at the right time. On the other side, three-time losing finalist Hasselbaink will no doubt have bittersweet memories of what must surely be his last day in the sun. In that sense things have worked out better for him than for Robbie Fowler, who doesn't even have the consolation of a runners up medal to illuminate the memory of the dying days of an illustrious career. Yes, in many ways this throwback final was like the dying of the light. Who will be surprised if next year it's back to business as usual, the semi finals being fought out between the big four while Ferguson and Grant complain about fixture overload as they juggle vast squads of overpaid superstars and compete for armfuls of trophies? Meanwhile at Fratton Park, Redknapp will be polishing the ancient cup, restored at last to the Portsmouth trophy cabinet after a 69 year absence, and down at Ninian Park Cardiff City might just be remembering Wembley and dreaming of the premiership.